


and our flight for freedom is still the same (we still live, love, and do it in vain)

by Ilikepickles



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: (minor character death), Aged-Down Character(s), Alternate Universe - Circus, Canonical Character Death, Gen, Genderfluid Loki (Marvel), Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicidal Thoughts, Inspired by Music, Musician Tony Stark, Non-binary Loki (Marvel), Non-binary character, Other, Trapeze Artist Loki (Marvel), frostiron if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-15 15:21:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29438184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ilikepickles/pseuds/Ilikepickles
Summary: He was running, fast and furiously. Faces flew past him. Families laughed. Children flitted about excitedly. The sound of connection was in the air. All over, hearts were finding one another, friendships were being made, destinies were being written. There were a thousand worlds being created in every minute, every heartbeat. He could never hope to know them all. All he knew was he was running.
Relationships: Loki/Tony Stark
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8





	and our flight for freedom is still the same (we still live, love, and do it in vain)

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warnings for non-graphic depiction of self-harm and implied/referenced suicidal thoughts. Also implied/referenced underage alcoholism. If I need to add anything else let me know.

He was running, fast and furiously. Faces flew past him. Families laughed. Children flitted about excitedly. The sound of connection was in the air. All over, hearts were finding one another, friendships were being made, destinies were being written. There were a thousand worlds being created in every minute, every heartbeat. He could never hope to know them all. All he knew was he was running.  
Tony stumbled to a halt, catching himself on the side of a tent. He doubled over, panting. It was too much, all too much. Everywhere around him people were happy. People were smiling. Connecting. And he was utterly alone.  
He hadn’t caught his breath yet, but still he heaved himself up. Starks are made of iron; it was time to run again.

_You lie and betray in the flight from lies and betrayals. You have fled all of your life, and you think continuing to flee will change anything? You pretend to be among them, to have your own place, something to protect you from the nightmares. But oh, no. They are a part of you. They will **never** go away. Go and flee, little man of iron. See how much longer your feet will carry you._

He was 2 when he discovered music. He had heard it before, of course. From sideshow performers looking for a quick coin, from children on the streets playing games, but never like this.  
Music at its purest form doesn’t have to be what most would consider music at all. It doesn’t have to be beautiful, or melodic, or purposeful. Music isn’t something for the ears to hear. It is something that resonates with the soul.  
Tony was just 2. His mother was up front scamming the latest bozo who wanted to hear their fate. He was teetering around back (while he could walk … strictly speaking, his gross motor skills hadn’t exactly kicked in yet). Not watching where he was going, he tripped over a rock and fell onto an instrument of his mother’s. It wasn’t a beautiful sound that came out, not by any means, but Tony was entranced.  
When Maria Stark’s session was interrupted by a cacophony of discordant notes, she smoothly apologized while rushing back to see what the matter was. She found her son grinning as he flapped his hands through her lute.

_I’ve said no more surprises, said that a thousand times, but I gotta say, I was hoping to pull off one last one. Everybody wants a happy ending. The epic forces of dark and light battle each other, the good guys kill the bad ones, life keeps on rolling. God, what a world. Universe, really. Don’t feel bad for me. For better or worse, whatever happens is gonna happen. I’m not really sure what I’m tripping for. Everything’s gonna work out exactly the way it’s supposed to._

He could hear the buzz of conversation around him. A father asked his nephew for a quarter. A sister chased her daughter from the pub. The pounding of his footsteps echoed through his aching head. He was running, but he was tired. So tired. The bleariness of an alcohol-fueled sleep muddled his thoughts. Booze, never a good idea. Still, sometimes it was all that prevented him from just stopping at a lake and saying, “Screw it.”  
Tony ran through a tent where someone was selling dream-catchers. Westerners. Got to love their cultural appropriation. He ran past stalls filled to the brim with jewelry, incense, plant life, and other such knick-knacks. As he ran the noise increased. It seemed there was one event at the end of the fair everyone gravitated towards. Perfect. Crowded events meant quiet spaces behind them.  
He hesitated. Something about this felt important. Shaking his head, he tried to find what everyone was walking to. Everything important falls apart, sooner or later.

_The mighty Stark. With all your strength, and what good does it do you now? There are truths in this world to which even you, with all your gifts, are blind. Life is so cruel, to have put what you need most desperately in your grasp knowing you could never reach it alone. The best laid plans of mice and men … but then again, there are no men like us._

He was 5 ½ when he discovered pain. He had been hurt before. He knew what it felt like when there wasn’t enough food and his stomach got angry. He knew what it felt like when the cold seeped through his socks and his toes felt almost numb.  
He didn’t know this pain, though.  
Tony was sitting a little ways away from his mother’s tent. He was mad at her because she wouldn’t let him learn to play the lute. Some musicians had come through, and one had even given him a lesson. When Mama found out she had been furious. She didn’t understand. Music was the only way to calm his racing thoughts. He was always thinking, solving, worrying, hoping; music was simple. Just notes and rhythms and strings.  
Tony was 5 ½ when he realized that pain was just as simple. He stared down at his bleeding arm in surprise. Drip, drip, drip … as his thoughts began to slow.

_A few years ago I lost it. I trashed all my belongings, relationships, everything. Then I had to mop up what was left of my life. So I ran. Then Steve, my fault. And then, and then, and then, I never stopped. ‘Cause the truth is I don’t wanna stop. There’s no decision-making process here, no rationalizing anything. I need to be put in check, ‘cause I’m not gonna solve this with boys and booze._

He slipped through the throng. Kids jostled into him, eager consumers rushed past to buy whatever it was, hands plucked at his pockets. He could have laughed at those last people. Not exactly like he had anything left to steal.  
Tony made it to a more open part of the grounds. Up ahead was a large circus tent. In front of it were banners (ha) advertising everything from trapeze acts to magic tricks. Ah, so this was the curiosity drawing people in. He ducked to the side, away from where jugglers were attempting to increase ticket sales. Apart from the crowd and the lights was where the real magic happened. Performers walked to and fro behind the tent, doing last-minute costume checks or thinking through their acts a final time. Horses were being herded into a stall and clowns were lined up behind an entrance.  
Tony took all this in quietly as he searched for a strategic exit point. Belatedly he realized that the performing area was so close. All it took was a push, and …

_Is not this simpler? Is this not your natural state? It’s your unspoken truth: that you crave a respite. The bright lure of it diminishes your life’s joy as you scramble madly for freedom, for control. It hurts, does it not? Learning it’s all a fiction. You were made for change. Fluidity. In the end, you will always run. Step out of your chains, Anthony Stark. You have need of them no longer._

He was 7 ¾ when his life fell apart. He came home from foraging for food one day to see their home torn apart, money stolen, and blood coating the floor. The lute lay destroyed by a table. He ran over to the bed to check. It couldn’t be, it **couldn’t** be.  
Tony stumbled back as he screamed.  
He was 7 ¾ when he started running. The stones stung his feet and the wind whipped the tears away as they flowed from his eyes. Pain was a bittersweet embrace around his arms. He was 7 ¾ when he left his home behind, and he never looked back.

_I didn’t want to lose it. My home, my heart, soul, whatever. It was everything. At first I thought James could split the difference. Didn’t work. In his defense, I’m a handful. I can’t really give anything, I’m just the kid who thinks too much. I should probably lie down for a minute, rest my eyes. Please know, when I drift off and everything lately, I’m fine. I’m totally fine. I dream about you. Because it’s always you._

His eyes widened as he took in the scene around him. Warm light filtered through lamps on the ceiling. Bleachers circled a sand-filled ring in the middle. Tall poles were set up around the perimeter with narrow ladders leading to platforms at various heights. Tight wires were strung between them.  
Nothing, however, compared to what lay at the heart of the tent. High above the tight wires was a gorgeous trapeze. It clearly had the capacity to swing great distances, but currently it was still. A person was entwined in its ropes. Black hair flowed over their shoulders as green eyes flashed. Tony stood entranced as he watched them. They twisted and reached, twirled and dove, in moves that made his breath catch. Finally, in a dizzying finale they let go and fell in a graceful plummet to the net below.  
As they climbed down from the apparatus they noticed him. He turned to go, but a voice called out,  
“Wait. You’re running from something, aren’t you?”  
Tony stopped. He quirked his head at this stranger. He **was** running, had been for so long. But from something?  
“I’m not quite sure,” he replied. “Sometimes I think I’m running from myself.” This seemed to please the stranger. They smiled in an unworldly way.  
“Stay.” Tony smiled hesitantly,  
“I don’t have an act.” This garnered a laugh.  
“I’m sure we can think of something.”

_Look how far you’ve fallen. Running about in the sweltering heat for hours. Huddling down in the dark, like a beast. Your ears yearn for untold stories, your eyes crave unseen sights, your imagination aches and hungers. Yet still you run. Where is your paltry claim of freedom now? Find release with me and I will give you what you need. We can run together._

He was 15 when he discovered the circus. It was a magical place. There was no need for gender, for conformity, for anything. You could be who you were and love who you loved. When you stepped out into the light, all that mattered was the audience and your act. You took all ambition, all hope, all sadness, all fear, and poured it into your performance.  
Tony learned to play the lute. The first time he played in the ring was the first time he felt true freedom. He had always told himself he was free. Free because he was running. Now, with the music soaring before him and the black haired no-longer-stranger flying above him, Tony smiled.  
Because he was free _to_ run. 

**Author's Note:**

> This is kind of a vent-fic. It's not supposed to be anything super specific or coherent, I was just having a lot of feelings and needed to get them out. The format didn't turn out quite how I wanted it but hopefully it still comes through. This was inspired by a gorgeous rendition of, "A Million Dreams," but it also has ties to, "Child In His Eyes," from, "Alegria." Both of the characters are aged-down, Tony is around 15 and Loki is 16-17. 
> 
> The italicized interludes are taken from actual quotes of both of the characters. They're all meant to be read in a softly-spoken, gentle, tone of voice, so the parts where Loki originally is yelling or speaking harshly would be different now.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed. Constructive criticism is welcomed.
> 
> Comments feed the author.


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